Memoirs of a Former Third Grade Intercontinental Movee:

Memories are always fading, and I decided that writing out stories of my memories of Scotland (as I remember them) may be a helpful exercise so that I might remember the important and insignificant events which occurred during my short stay overseas now more than a decade ago. Like I said, the writing will primarily benefit me, but I hope that it will prove in some ways enjoyable to you few.

My life began in the Woodlands, truly began in Dallas, and then became drastically altered when I was 8-years-old with the news that I would be moving to Scotland...or as drastically changed as the life of one that young can be. I'm sure the move was harder on my brother. I remember at the time having no idea of where Scotland was, and pompously thinking that it must be some place far far away and little known about since someone as intelligent in school as I was hadn't a clue of its geographic location. My dad brought us home a sort of Traveler's Guide to Scotland video that showed us wide green lands, castles, probably kilts, bagpipes, highland games, etc. Comfort did not reach me through this video. My life was changing and not in a foreseeable way, nor even one that allowed me to see into my future in any useful way - the future was now absolute mystery. We were flying across the ocean, somewhere, going rightward, towards England, but not exactly to England. I remember making a great histrionic scene among my closest friends at the lunch table on my last day in the cafeteria at Donald Elementary School. Still, the goodbyes weren't terribly sad and I don't recall any tears being involved, just the understanding that we would be parting ways. We had each come to terms with the move, or more accurately I had. My tight-knit group of friends would certainly manage fine without me. Being the shyest little boy in all existence, I did not look forward to the challenge of building up friendships once more among people who apparently even had a slightly different language than us, but after a few nights and days of sporadic tears, I readied myself in a small way.

I do not remember packing, nor the airport, but I know that my dad had left Texas slightly earlier than us to "set up" the house and get everything ready for us. I remember first seeing the house, 2 Springdale (Court?) and had no emotions about the interior except that I was excited at having a bunk bed, even if it was a room I had all to myself. Our house as I remember it was split into two halves. On the left, upon entering, one would find the living and dining rooms, along with the kitchen, and on the right was a short hallway with our bedrooms and a bathroom (which one day flooded our house via the tub - I cannot remember who was to blame but my gut feeling is my mother). I believe that my room was the last door on the left. It's funny to me that one can live in a house for a year and hardly remember the layout of the place, or even the types of rooms that were in the house. I believe I recall being in the dining room only once eating Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. I say this only because in this memory there is at least one guest who I do not recognize, and of course, turkey. I do not remember eating any other meals there, nor any late nights staying up or trying to sleep.

The memories I do have of simply living there in that house are sparse and strange. One of my most vivid memories was actually of one late night in which I finally started to trying to sleep later than usual, but could not. There was a high pitched and slightly frightening sound coming from a few rooms away from time to time. I knew not what it was, nor why it seemed to repeat itself often, and still fluctuate at other times. In the morning I inquired after the noise to my brother and discovered that he had unlocked the famed character, Ness, in the N64's Super Smash Brothers. Shouts of "PIKETANUS!" and other strange Ness noises had kept me awake the previous night. Most other memories are only trivial - of waking up often in the top bunk (my bed of choice), sitting up, and heading my head hard, of sitting down at my desk to do homework, of hurrying inside from the cold in 3-4 thick coats. In that house, I know that I was well looked after and cared for, but I have only the memory of this generalized feeling and no real, evidential proof. However, the short-lived home was in fact a home, even if seldom remembered.